


Raising Babies

by Little_Knight_Mik



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blarg tags, Changing identity, Dad Dave, Dave is a runaway with a baby, F/F, Karkat is the reluctant neighbour who helps anyway, M/M, Mum Rose, Stabdad Slick, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Knight_Mik/pseuds/Little_Knight_Mik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You continue to watch him, even after he finishes the milk and waits for you to finish your apple juice. There's something about him that you've been wondering for a while: How old is he? Hold long had his mother or father kept him until they decided 'Hey, this random teen who's home alone looks like the perfect permanent caretaker for my precious baby', and then just left him on your doorstep? Obviously longer than a few weeks after birth, you know; it's pretty obvious, from the kid's size, that he's at least somewhere around, if not older than twelve months. Holy crap, you don't even know when his birthday is! How are you going to work through that?</p><p>Good God, you really didn't consider all this when you picked him up and brought him with you to the bus station.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Month One

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a thing that happened. I'll keep it Teen+ rating because I don't know if it'll go further than this, and yeah. Stuff. Hope you guys enjoy, I guess :)

You let out a breath, shifting the baby’s weight onto your other arm, and survey the somewhat small area. It’s only one half of the apartment, revealing only the kitchen and lounge areas, and past the kitchen are the bathroom and bedroom areas. Four rooms for two people – technically one and a half. That’s fine with you, you decide. You won't be living here forever and it's not like the kid will be growing up anytime soon. Yeah; this small, New York apartment will do just fine.

Setting the baby - almost a toddler, really - down onto the small couch that came with the apartment, you begin to unpack a few of the bare necessities: Food, clothes, apple juice, baby formula. Diapers - definitely diapers. It's been some time since the kid soiled himself, and you suspect he's going to do it again at any moment. It's easy to tell at this point; he gets a fit of giggles before starting to sniffle, and then starts squirming as he tries to crawl toward you without rubbing crap all over his ass. In case you see him, or even hear him start giggling, you've put the diaper packet on the coffee table in front of you.

And people say babies are miracles to behold... Honestly, ever since you found this thing sitting in a nest of blankets on your doorstep back in Houston, you knew you were going to have your hands full. You haven't even come up with a name for him yet!

After stacking the clothes in the single empty bedroom, right by the corner and near the window, you return to the lounge area and grab the tin of baby formula. The kid's probably thirsty, you remind yourself, since he hasn't really had much to drink today other than the premade bottle you heated up this morning. You're quick to heat up some water with the few kitchen items you brought with you, mixing it with the powder and testing the warmth. Satisfied with the tempreture, you take the bottle over to the couch and spot the baby where you last left him; you scoop him up (and one of the apple juice boxes while you're at it) and sit him on your lap, stretching out your legs as you offer the bottle to him. He's quick to take it, confirming your suspicions, and drinks generously as he watches you with his wide orange eyes. You lift your glasses, poking the straw through the box, and sip your juice as you watch him back.

You still haven't quite come to terms with having a baby in your care, despite how calm and orgnised you appear to any other person seeing you with him. Hell, you probably look like any other seventeen-year-old taking care of a baby. You've seen the looks you get sometimes - you've only had him for a few days, but it's hard to ignore the glances of people who walk past. They're all silently judging, wondering who you screwed and let down to be stuck with a baby.

He drops his bottle, pouting a little and puffing out his cheeks as he tries to grab it again. He's struggling to get a grip on it, even though its right on top of you and just a few inches away from him, but in the end he falls on your chest and lets out a small sound. You recognise it as the beginning of a sob/tantrum and quickly assist him in his quest for the bottle. It's half-empty, to your surprise, and you wonder if you'll need to make more as you hand it to him. He perks up as you do - not by much, but he stops whatever tantrum he was going to chuck - and continues to drink the milk.

You continue to watch him, even after he finishes the milk and waits for you to finish your apple juice. There's something about him that you've been wondering for a while: How old is he? Hold long had his mother or father kept him until they decided  _Hey, this random teen who's home alone looks like the perfect permanent caretaker for my precious baby_ , and then just left him on your doorstep? Obviously longer than a few weeks after birth, you know; it's pretty obvious, from the kid's size, that he's at least somewhere around, if not older than twelve months. Holy crap, you don't even know when his birthday is! How are you going to work through that?

Good God, you really didn't consider all this when you picked him up and brought him with you to the bus station.

Your juice box is empty, to your dismay, and the time on your phone reads five-thirty. Any minute now that baby is going to start giggling and squirming, and you'll have to change his diaper and maybe give him a bath. Actually, make that  _definitely_ give him a bath. You don't know when his last one was, so you guess it's better to be safe than sorry with this. "Okay, kid," you say, sighing. "Have your poop so I can bathe you."

The baby tilts his head to the side and lets out a small gurlging sound. You know he doesn't understand you, but damn would it be a relief if he could obey your every command at this age. If he ends up anything like you, though, you're gonna have a hard time raising him.

Kicking off your shoes (which fly at the wall across from you, almost hitting it) and rolling up your sleeves, you sit up and lift the baby off of your lap. He lets out a small giggle at the movement, and then out of nowhere the smell of a dirtied diaper reaches your nose. You scowl a little, wrinkling your nose in an attempt to rid yourself of the scent. You fail in your attempt, but like to think you've suceeded somewhat when you manage to get him to the bathroom without dropping him due to the overwhelming stench. You're still pretty new to changing diapers, having only ever done it twice before (both times during the bus ride to New York), but you feel somewhat proud to have gotten the soiled diaper off of the baby before you begin to fill the rather small bath tub with water. You're not giving him a fancy wash or anything - just a bit of a clean up to last him a few days until you can buy more baby shit for him.

You pull him out of the tub, drying him carefully with the towel (your only towel, you remind yourself), and put a fresh diaper on him. Satisfied with your work, you take him back to the living room and flop onto the couch with him, laying him on your stomach as you let out a small breath. You start to close your eyes a little, tired from the trip and tired from the effort of unpacking (however little you've unpacked), and slowly let your eyelids droop and feel your mind wander into sleep. You wake up some time later (quarter to seven, your phone reads) to shouts in the hall outside. You figure its your neighbours, considering the landlady told you in her email that the father and son duo across from your apartment were loud and often at war with each other. You groan as the shouts get louder, closer to your door, and prepare to sit up when you see the baby holding your glasses. It looks like he hasn't gotten any sleep during your snooze, and seems to have expertly stolen your shades to merely teethe at. You narrow your eyes at him, shouts forgotten for the moment.

_Fuckin' adorable._

There's a knock on your door, startling the baby. He pauses his toothless chewing of one side, eyes going straight for the door. You lift him up, setting him on the couch with a stern, "Don't move," and then make your way to the door with a tired groan.

Standing there are two people, one tall and one short. The most notable one is the tall one, sporting a scarred eye and a bandaged arm. He's dressed in what you can only guess is stereotypical mobster clothes - fedora and all - and you begin to wonder just who the hell this guy is. Sure, he's your neighbour. But who the hell dresses like that?

The one next to him - a teenager, probably around your age - looks like he doesn't want to be there, arms crossed in front of him in defiance as he refuses to look up and acknowledge you. Fair enough, you decide. You aren't really in the mood to play happy neighbourhood, anyway.

"Can I help you?" you ask in your usual, monotonous voice. You've mastered the art of being hard to read, courtesy of Bro and his kickass parental skills.

The man nods, taking off his fedora to reveal neatly combed brown hair. Good God, he looks like some kind of asshole mobster from the twenties. "Apologies for interruptin' whatever business you were tendin' to," he says. Oh man, he even speaks like one of those old Italian mobsters. What the fuck kind of neighbour have you been saddled with? "We thought it would be rude of us not to welcome you to our building-"

"You mean  _you_ thought it was rude," the teen interrupts. That earns him a slap upside the head. The man continues as though the teen said nothing.

"And that, while we're at it, we'd introduce ourselves and 'get friendly'."

You raise a blonde brow, narrowing your eyes a little. "Uh-huh..."

"The name's Spades 'Slick' Vantas," the man says, tipping his head a little. You're not sure what to make of him - is he a mobster or a gentleman!? "The little shit beside me is my son, Karkat."

Okay... Odd names for odd neighbours.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr Vantas." You nod to Slick, then to his son. "And you, Karkat."

Karkat merely grunts and looks past you, spotting the baby on the couch. His dark eyebrows shoot up, red eyes going wide. "Is that a fucking bab-"

Another slab upside the head. "Manners, Karkat," Slick scolds. "We're tryin' to make a good impression on our neighbour." He turns to look at you again, a sincere apology in his expression. At least, it  _looks_ sincere. "And what might your name be, bud?"

Oh shit.

"David," you say quickly, trying to make your name sound just a little bit different from your own. As long as he doesn't ask for a last name, you're fine.

"David-what?" Slick presses.

Oh fuck.

Your mind races for a second as you contemplate possible names. Come on, Strider, think of a name that's believeable. Any name will do! Just don't make it a shitty one!

"Lalonde," you blurt out. "David Lalonde."

 _Oh my fucking God_ , you think, inwardly mortified.  _I've given myself the last name of a snob._

"Lalonde, eh?" Slick looks thoughtful. He shrugs, keeping whatever thought he has to himself. "Nice to make your acquaintence, David Lalonde." He nods to you again, stating that he'll leave you to it (whatever "it" is), and takes his son back across the hall and into their apartment. As soon as you close the door, you hear the shouts start up again.

That went well, you try to convince yourself. It could've gone worse - and it didn't! - but suddenly you're paranoid and you're wishing you have internet and a TV to check the news; anything to see if you've been noted missing and anything to see if your face is being put up on every news station with a number to call underneath for tips. Maybe you're overreacting, maybe you're not. But holy shit, the weight of what you're doing is actually coming down on you. You don't know how far your friends will go to find you - you don't know how far they'll push the police into finding you. Hell, you don't even know if anyone's looking for that baby! For all you know, you've just become a kidnapper! Or maybe you're assisting in a kidnapping and now the police have two reasons to look for you and holy crap, calm the fuck down, Strider!

You let out a breath, sinking to the floor, and catch the baby still in his spot. He still teething at the shades, watching you curiously; you wonder if he'll give up the shades and let you have them back, but you also wonder if that's a good thing. You're not too big on wearing something a baby's slobered all over. You've gotta get over it, though, you tell yourself; this baby is going to slober all over everything, as well as puke and piss and throw food on everything you love.

Miracle, your ass.

* * *

He's been crying for twenty minutes now, seemingly immune to your attempts at calming him. His first few days in the apartment had been fine - he was sleeping when you were, and he didn't seem to have many complaints - but now, on your fifth day there, he's screaming and crying and keeping you awake. He refuses to take any milk, his diaper is cleaner than you've ever seen it. What is wrong with him!?

It's three in the morning, according to your phone; three in the morning and you're positive you're going to face a visit from your neighbours any second now, demanding you shut the baby up and let them sleep. You would if you could, but it's easier said than done. You're not sure what kind of rocking to do - back and forth? Up and down? - and you don't know if the crappy ocean sounds you're making have any effect on him. You don't think they are, considering he just bawls louder to overpower any sounds you make.

Soon enough, you're begging him to be quiet, asking him what's wrong and demanding to know what you can do to make him stop, to make him happy and calm again. He doesn't answer, obviously, but some part of you kind of hopes he will magically hint at something he needs. Anything.

There's a knock on the door ten minutes later, causing you to stop your pacing and ocean sounds. The baby's still crying as you hold him a little closer, preparing to face the tired wrath of your supposed-mobster neighbour and his son.

You open the door, finding only Karkat standing there with a very displeased look on his face. You sigh tiredly, about ready to start one of those "Look, I'm sorry, but..." conversations; he beats you to the punchline, though, and holds up a hand as he glares at you.

"I get that you have no fucking idea what to do when it comes to raising a kid - it's pretty obvious, just look at you - and I get that babies are like little devil spawn before they start walking," he says. You let out and breath, shifting the baby's weight in hopes that a new position will calm him. It doesn't. "Trust me, I don't want to sound like the bad guy here. That's the last thing I want. But, for fuck's sake, if you can't take care of that baby properly and figure out how to stop it crying, I'll have to call child services or something."

Oh fuck no.

Once again, you're begging. Begging Karkat not to call anyone, not to tell anyone that a baby needs to be taken off of your hands, and God damn it why are you so adamant to keep the baby? He just stands there and watches you, listening to you as you beg over the baby's wails, and finally, when you run out of words to use, he huffs, says he'll give you a week, and stalks back to his apartment with his arms crossed in front of him.

You try to come up with more attempts to calm the baby, a few of them only half-working until you forget you're even doing them and he starts up again. You try not to lose it, remembering that this tiny person has only been alive for at least a year, and that you were probably no better when Bro raised you.

The thought of Bro brings an idea to you, your mind working to remember what he said way back when about how he used to put you to sleep on slow nights. He used to say that it was how he knew you'd follow in his footsteps (HA! Running away and taking in a baby counts as following in his footsteps?) and become a great Strider. It takes a while, the baby's crying helping very little for your memory, but it's pretty soon that you remember what Bro used to do when you couldn't sleep: Rap.

Okay. No problem there.

What kind of rap is appropriate for a baby who refuses to shut up and sleep?

You stand still, frowning. Wow, all the possible raps to choose from, and somehow only one by Eminem stands out above the rest. It sort of suits your situation, aside from the fact that there is no mommy involved in the issue and this baby's name isn't Hailey. Fuck, the baby still doesn't have a name! How did you forget that!?

The baby starts crying louder, breaking you from your thoughts, and you begin to frantically hum _Mockingbird_ to him as you sit down on the couch and hold him protectively against you. You pray this works, because you're running out of ideas faster than you're running out of AJ. It isn't until you hit the chorus, where you actually sing the words, that he starts to calm down. He hasn't heard this tone from you before - probably hasn't heard anyone sing before now - and for a second you think he's curious. You watch him cautiously as he listens to you rap the next verse, feeling a little hope rise when you see his eyes droop for a second, and then slowly lower yourself into a comfortable position to sleep in. He's on your chest, still watching you, but it doesn't take long for him to completely pass out and go to sleep.

You check your time on your phone. Three-fifty-seven. That took way too long to figure out, you scold yourself. The thought doesn't last long, though; you're too tired, and you figure this is the best time to sleep before he wakes up and demands you change his diaper and give him milk. So you do just that; you close your eyes, drape some of your jacket over him, and let sleep take over.

It's the same story the next night, but you're quicker to calm him down now that you know rapping actually puts him to sleep. You're still no closer to figuring out a name for him, so you decide that calling him "lil' man" will have to do until something better comes to you. He starts crying at two, and is back to sleep by two-ten. Karkat doesn't come knocking on your door, and neither does Slick; you're not sure if this is a good thing after Karkat's threat last night, but you take it as a relief and fall back to sleep. The next two nights are roughly the same, leaving you to wonder if the baby just likes to have someone singing to him when he's sad, but on the third night you're proven sorely wrong.

He won't sop crying, not matter what you rap to him and no matter how much you offer milk to him. He doesn't stink, so a diaper change isn't in order, and as far as you know he doesn't have a fever. So what does he want?

It's half an hour later (your phone reading four in the morning) and you're just now hearing the knock on your door.  _Shit_ , is the first thing that runs through your mind.  _Shit, Karkat's here and he's going to take him away_.

You open the door anyway after setting the baby down on the couch, hearing him cry even louder when you leave him there. You're trying to prepare a speech to convince Karkat to not call anyone, more so convince him you still have a few more days left to calm the baby, but he doesn't give you time. He waltzes past, barely looking at you, and makes a beeline for the baby. You manage out a, "Karkat, wait," before you stop and watch his movements. He simply picks up the baby, holds him so that the baby is looking over his shoulder, and pats his back softly. As soon as he does, the baby stops crying and burps.

He fucking  _burps_.

All you can do is stand there, dumbfounded, and watch as your baby just falls asleep again. Karkat holds onto him for a few more minutes, rocking back and forth to make sure the baby's asleep. Once he's certain, he turns to you and asks, "What's his name?"

You aren't happy with the lie you've come up with, but you are satisfied with the easy tone you manage when telling him, "His mom didn't leave me a name when she gave him to me. I still haven't come up with one, either."

"Handy," he says with a hint of sarcasm. He raises a brow. "You  _are_ going to name him, right?"

All you manage is a shrug. "It'll come to me," is your excuse. It earns you a roll of his eyes.

He stays for a little longer, still holding the baby, and you end up reluctantly sharing an apple juice with him. You need to buy some later, so you guess it'll be okay to give one away to a complete stranger who threatened to call child services not even five days ago. You keep a bit of a distance, unsure of where you should sit or stand in your own home. Karkat looks pretty comfy on the couch, sipping away at his apple juice as the baby snoozes on his shoulder.

By the time five rolls around, you're talking a little about your fake life before New York. You've officially decide that you were a kid who got bored of living in a small town and chose to leave for New York to make it big, only to be saddled with your ex's baby. You say you aren't even sure if the baby's yours, considering she slept around a lot, but you make it known that you like to think he is. Karkat tells you a little about himself, about how his dad runs a group called the Midnight Crew. He quickly corrects himself, saying it's a gang, not a group, and immediately your mind wanders to Slick's mobster getup. That explains a lot, you guess, but it just opens up a lot more questions about Slick's mobster life.

It's five-thirty and awkward silence settles over you both. You're both tired, but the risk of the baby waking up again is keeping you awake - just barely, though. You've settled for staring at Karkat, tapping the empty juice box with your index finger. He's trying pretty hard to stay awake, but it's obvious that he's about to fall asleep right on your couch with your baby. You just sit there and stare as he does, observing how he immediately relaxes into whatever dream he's having.

Now that you're actually focusing on him, you're able to take in his features properly. There're bags under his eyes - his _red eyes_ , to your disbelief - and they stand out pretty darkly compared to his tanned skin. You silently wonder if the bags are your fault, what with your inability to get a baby to stop crying (and burp, apparently). He looks kind of young, but he's told you already that he's the same age as you. It's hard to believe, but you accept it anyway. What reason does he have to lie, anyway? Not like he's the one running away from home with an unknown baby.

You shake your head, getting off-track. It annoys you how easily that happened, but you push back that annoyance and resume watching Karkat. By six, you've memorized every feature, mark, and sleepy expression of his face; you decide that the baby's not going to wake up any time soon, appearing comfy on your neighbour, and end up laying on the floor with your towel as a makeshift pillow.

Karkat's up and out the door at seven, leaving the baby with you after waking you up and stressing that he needs to get ready for school.

* * *

It isn't until you walk through the checkout that you come up with a name for the kid. It's right when the checkout chick tries to guess your name, her only hint that it begins with D, and her guess brings an idea to you. The baby will be named Dirk Lalonde (Strider, in the privacy of home), you decide, and you walk out the store with your head held high.

You bump into a couple of people as you leave the store, hardly seeing them come through the door, and you almost laugh when you hear Karkat growl, "Just the asshole I'm looking for."

Coming into focus, you notice the girl beside him and raise a brow, wondering what he wants. He merely turns to her and gestures to you. "Kanaya, this is the guy I told you about," he tells her. "Think you have room for him in the group?"

The girl - Kanaya - just gives you a once-over. She hardly has to move as she does, standing almost as tall as you ( _Wow, Karkat, you sure look fucking short compared to us..._ ). The first word that comes to mind is "elegant" when you take in her appearance, noting how she holds herself in a very confident way and how the colours on her clothes and makeup actually  _compliment_ each other rather than make her look like a hooker. Very different from the idiots back in your old high school, you note as she gives Karkat an exasperated sigh.

"Karkat," she says, and immediately you know she's going to turn you down for whatever Karkat's suggesting you for. "The group is for single  _mothers_. It may be hard to believe, but your friend here is very much a single father."

"Yeah, yeah; I know that." Karkat rolls his eyes, fixing his bag's position on his shoulder. "But seriously, he needs the help. Can't you just make the exception?"

She seems to consider it, green lips twisting into a frown. You're not sure if you want her to make an exception or not, considering all you can gather is that Karkat just recommended you for a single mothers' group run by his friend; you stay quiet, though, and wait as she thinks it over.

Finally, she sighs and says, "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Good." Your neighbour nods, then takes you by the arm and drags you out of the store, taking one of your bags while you at it. "Now, I'm going to go ahead and assume that you left the baby with Dad. That means we needs to hurry the fuck up and get him back before Dad gives him a knife to play with."

You follow, casting a glance back at Kanaya, and speed up a little at the mention of a knife near your baby. (Wow, did you just call him  _your_ baby? How long have you been doing that? Crap, you didn't think you'd get this attached in just a few weeks.)

It isn't until you're about halfway home that you say, "I've decided on a name."

Karkat doesn't stop dragging you, but he does make a sound of interest. "It's Dirk," you continue. "Dirk Lalonde."

There's silence after that, and you make it home without a word - even the elevator ride is quiet. You get to Karkat's place, get Dirk (it feels weird to refer to him as something other than "lil' man" or "the baby"...), and then bring your bags back to the apartment. Karkat offers to help, still holding one of the bags, but you decline and take your food from him. Soon enough you're locking your door behind you, setting the baby down at the small table (in the second-hand highchair, of course), and pulling out some baby food.

"Yo, Dirk," you say, grinning a little. "Got'cha some grub. Good kind, too; no more formula three times a day."

Dirk seems to respond to both the name and the offer of baby food. Feeling a little more confident now that you can call him something - now that you've named him and given him an identity - you open the food and search for a small spoon to feed him with. Everything went better than expected when you gave him the first spoonful of puréed whatever-that-goop-is. He resists a little afterwards, flinging the food onto your shirt a few times before he gives up and decides to eat the rest.

You bathe him (and yourself, God forbid that goop dries in your hair), and soon enough the two of you are settled on the couch and watching episodes of shows saved onto your iPod. You tell yourself you'll buy a TV for Dirk soon, figuring he'll enjoy some of the shows played nowadays; you also pretty much need a TV to see if your face on popping up anywhere, or if there's been any news of a missing baby. It scares you a little, not knowing.

Dirk looks up at you and lets out a loud, "Bluh," as he reaches for your shades. He's become quite attched to your shades lately, either chewing on them or putting them over his eyes in an attempt to wear them. You wonder if you should get him a pair, raise him the same way Bro did. You still have your old pair - the ones you're wearing, the aviators, were a gift from your best friend - and it's not like you'll be using them any time soon. Making up your mind, you lift him off of you and set him down on the couch, then make your way into your unused bedroom and search quickly for the glasses. It takes five minutes to find them, wiping some of the dust off of them, and return to the couch with a smirk.

"Try these, dude," you say, handing them to him. Immediatley he starts teething at it and giggling.

Fucking.

 _Adorable_.

You give it some time before you get off your lazy ass and start cooking dinner. Dirk looks like he's hungry for more food, so you grab more baby food with your microwave dinner. As your dinner heats up, you feed him his puréed goop. You're done by the time your food's ready, so you join him at the table and just snack on your meal as he lifts the shades over his eyes. You try not to laugh when they fall off his face, instead helping him put them on and listening to him laugh and clap his hands.

 _You know what_ _?_ you think to yourself.  _This kid really is a fuckin' miracle baby._

The next week goes smoothly, news reaching you that Kanaya is going to allow you to join her mothers' group. Karkat helps out a few times, offering to buy supplies whenever you can't go on without them (mainly diapers after the store decided their sales were over). You feel on top of the world, actually, especially when Karkat convinces you to explain your situation to his dad. Slick is sympathetic, to your surprise, and offers you some help in the form of doing jobs for the Midnight Crew in case you need extra money.

Only one month with a baby and everything is going better than expected.


	2. Month Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave does his first job, learns a little more about Karkat, and makes a new friend who's more than willing to lend a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter was rushed a bit... I'm sorry if it is toward the end D: Otherwise, thank you all for the comments, kudos and bookmarks!

The first thing you note upon stopping at the mothers' group HQ is that  _this is a regular house_. It's not a small, one-storey building you'd been expecting this morning after checking the address Karkat gave you. It's certainly not some kind of health centre that other groups meet up at. No, this is a fancy white and laventer two-storey house with a lawn of its own littered with small gnomes - a few of them wearing what appear to be wizard costumes. You stare awkwardly at one particular gnome that's winking at you from under his giant wizard hat. Ugh... What is up with this place?

You ring the doorbell, fixing Dirk's position, and wait patiently for three seconds before the door opens to reveal a blonde girl. She looks less than impressed to see you standing there, but invites you in once she sees Dirk try to reach for her scarf. She guides you into her living room (you inwardly remark that God damn this room is the size of your apartment), leaves you for the small group to ogle at. You don't know if you should sit down or remain standing, so you just opt to stay in the corner like the awkward teen you are. It isn't long before Kanaya walks into the room, bringing you to the circle with the blonde girl (who is now holding an equally blonde baby), and prompts you to introduce yourself.

You're silent at first, nervous under the intense stares of the older women. After about thirty seconds, though, you're able to properly form a small sentence.

"Uh, so... I'm David," you say, trying to throw a bit of confidence into the mix. "Nice to meet y'all."

Shit, you're too nervous - some of your Southern drawl just slipped in there. It doesn't seem to throw them off, though; in fact, one of them looks like she finds it adorable.

"I don't mean to pry," Kanaya tells you, "but we would appreciate it if you gave your last name as well; also the name of the baby."

"Oh." The blonde watches you carefully as you survey the group, wondering if they'd believe your made up name. "Lalonde. David Lalonde. And this here is my baby, Dirk."

Kanaya only offers a raised brow and a, "How curious," while the others in the group mutter amongst themselves. You begin to worry that maybe your lie is too much to follow. Maybe one of them has the same last name. Maybe one of them knows someone with that last name. What if they all take a vote and unanimously agree to kick you out of the group? Damn it, there's too many outcomes to saying your cover name!

"It would seem we have another Lalonde in our midst," the blonde says, fixing her scarf as she hands her baby to Kanaya. "One with the same name as a dear relative of mine."

What?

"Uh..."

She stands, makes her way over to you and pats you on the shoulder. "Ladies, we're in the presence of my brother, David. I don't believe I've told you about him yet." She smiles easily, and you can't tell if she knows your deal or not. You're fucked if she really does have a brother who looks like you.

The session kicks off after you play along with her, finding a small note tucked into your pocket at some point when she walks past. You pull it out when no one is looking, reading over it quickly to find out what the blonde has to say. It's written in small cursive, but it's a pretty detailed message even on the small paper.

_I know you aren't really my brother, but play along. Forgive me for assuming, but it appeared as though you were panicking earlier. I gave you a story to go along with, and if you wish to keep up with it then I will tell you only this: Our "parents" divorced when we were seven and you went with our "father". I lost contact with you after I moved to New York, and thus only recognised you from your name and appearance. Kanaya only knows about Mother, so feel free to describe your own father figure for our "father". By the way, it would be wise to add my number to your phone so we can meet up and discuss your situation - a mothers' group hardly seems the appropriate place for such topics._

_By the way, do not refer to me as Rosie, Rosalind, or Rosemarie. It's just Rose._

You stare at the paper for a moment, letting the message sink in. As soon as it does, you tuck the note back into your pocket and finish preparing the milk for Dirk. He seems to have taken a shining to Rose's kid, Roxy - she looks around the same age as him, and Rose tells you later into the day that she's nine months old. You'd been close about Dirk's age, but you were still pretty far off from "almost twelve months, if not older". You get along with some of the women - a few are quick to give you tips on getting him to sleep on time and you even find out that yes, your baby  _can_ eat a potato if it's been mashed beyond recognition.

The mothers' group ends some time later, with you leaving wondering how you're going to get in contect with Rose without a phone to use. You had to dump your old one back in Houston, and you haven't had the time to buy a new one since arriving in New York. Rose seems to sense this just as you're about to leave, calling out, "Brother, dearest; a moment?"

You're not sure you'll ever get used to being called "brother dearest"...

You follow her to the kitchen, listening as Kanaya says goodbye to all of the mothers and wishes them a great week. The next meeting is next week, Rose tells you as she begins to boil some water. You keep Dirk on your lap, taking a seat on a stool, and politely decline the offer for tea or coffee.

Kayana is still saying goodbye to the mothers as Rose begins, "So, David; how long do you suppose you'll be able to play along as my brother?"

You're quick to answer, "However long you plan to keep going along with it. I'm not the one who said we're related."

"A fair point." She puts Roxy in the highchair, then returns to the tea cups. They look dainty, made from china; this is further proven by the intricate patterns on both of them. "I suppose it would be fair to keep going with this ruse. It's not like my real brother will be able to object to it." The water finishes boiling. She fills one tea cup before glancing back at you with a sly smile. "Welcome to the family, brother. Are there any nicknames you go by so I can appear somewhat familiar with you whenever we talk?"

A moment of silence passes between you, and in that moment she returns to pouring the tea and adding the sugar. You glance at Roxy, then to Dirk, and finally answer Rose when she goes to get the milk from the fridge. "Dave," you tell her. "Just call me Dave, for short."

Kanaya chooses that moment to enter, letting out a breath and shaking her head at Rose. "I swear," she says, exasperated, "Helen is getting more and more agitated with the divorce finalising. I could hardly have a decent conversation with her."

"I know," Rose replies matter-of-factly. "I was there."

Before they so much as begin to have their own conversation with you as a spectator, Kanaya turns to you and gives you a small frown. She looks like she's trying to figure out something, and you honestly can't blame her. "Karkat never mentioned you being related to Rose," she states, raising a brow. The universal sign for _Care to explain?_ "I'm quite surprised to see you even have a brother, Rose."

Rose nods, humming in agreement. "Dave went off the radar after our parents diviorced," she explains. "We didn't have phones to contact each other and obviously we weren't doing internet shenanigans at that time, so I had no idea I'd be seeing him again - and with a baby, too."

A small conversation kicks off after that, you adding in small tidbits of your pretend life after your pretend parents' divorce. You report how your old man is doing, telling them that he's stuck working shifts at a juice factory (wow, you couldn't come up with anything better?). You say you haven't heard from him since moving to New York, considering your phone was stolen at the train station in Dallas (it wouldn't hurt to tinker with locations, would it?).

Some time passes after you get into your conversation, Kanaya inquiring (more politely, with less caution) what you're doing for work. You tell her you're doing the odd job for Slick, leaving it at that, and Rose takes it upon herself to warn you of the dangers in helping the Midnight Crew. You remind her that your old man made sure you could defend yourself back in Dallas, leaving her to simply stare at you in a very unamused manner.

You're contemplating asking a few more questions about your cover story - without Kanaya in the room, of course - when you hear a car horn sound off outside the house. You jump, wondering who the hell just drove past, and look down the hall and at the door when you hear the horn go off again. Seconds after it does, the doorbell chimes.

"What's the bet that's for me?" you mutter. Rose gives you a knowing smirk, turning to you with her arms across her chest.

"I'd assume that's your boss, Dave," she says. "Better get to work."

Kanaya is quick to argue with Rose's sentence. "Now, now, dear," she sighs, "we can't just let him take young Dirk into the gang scene. What if he gets hurt?" She turns to you before Rose can answer, but it looks like your "sister" agrees wholeheartedly. "Please, leave Dirk with us and I'll drop him back to your house when you're done. I have a spare phone you can use until you get one of your own, and all you need to do is text me the address when you arrive there."

She hurries off down the hall, making a turn for the stairs and walks up them two at a time. You sit there for a moment, silent, and cast a glance at the blonde watching the door. She sighs, saying she might as well answer, and takes her time to walk down the hall and open the door to a very displeased Karkat.

You hear a loud, "Tell him to hurry the hell up, then!" before Kanaya returns to the kitchen. She hands you the phone, takes Dirk from you, and wishes you luck with work. The moment Karkt catches sight of you, he orders you to move your ass before Deuce whips out the bull penis cane. You aren't sure if you want to get into the car after he says that, but you're dragged into the back seat nevertheless. The interior of the car makes you wonder if it's a minivan painted black, but keep that question to yourself when the big guy in the seat in front of you shoves plastic-wrapped clothes toward you.

"You got your first job today, Lalonde," Slick tells you from the driver's seat. "Need you to do some transportation work. That right there is your uniform."

As though to make a point, the big guy in front of you not-so-gracefully places a fedora on your head. Oh hell no.

"Look, Slick," you start. "I appreciate the offer for work, but I am  _not_ going around dressed like Halloween came early. Okay?"

Slick swerves the car to the right, just a few metres away from a set of traffic lights. He skids to a stop, turning to face you with a glare, and his three underlings do exactly the same. You catch the shortest one reaching for what appears to be a- Okay, now you know why Karkat wanted you to hurry up and get in the damn car-van.

You let out a breath, giving up quicker than you'd like to admit. "Fine," you groan. "But how about a compromise? I only wear the vest, shirt, and fedora. Anything else is my own choice. Deal?"

Slick considers it, and Deuce (you assume he's Deuce, since he's the only one reaching for the bull penis cane) just glances between you. He doesn't know if he should hit you with the cane ( _Oh God, please don't..._ ) or leave you be. Karkat shifts in his seat, growling to himself. He's getting impatient, you note, and Slick is quick to notice this.

"Alright, alright," he says. "You can forget the trench coat and trousers-"

" _And_ the loafers."

" _And_ the loafers," he adds. He turns back to the wheel, and his underlings do the same. Before he starts the car, he quickly orders, "Karkat, help him change."

You both demand, "What?" but don't get a reply as Slick turns into another lane and prepares to drive in the direction of their hideout. God damn it, you were kind of hoping to at least stop by home before doing anything.

You take off your shades, handing them to Karkat with a, "Hold these for me," before unwrapping the clothes and taking off your shirt. You pretty much dump it on the floor, searching for the white button-up shirt and fancy vest. You can feel someone's stare on you, but you're too busy looking for your getup to take any notice of  _who_ it is. All you know is that you're going to look like a bit of a douche and that you're going to have to ask Slick for red trimming instead of grey.

It takes little under a minute to get dressed, a few seconds to fix your hair so the fedora sits comfortably. You glance to your left, spot Karkat staring at you with wide eyes, and ask, "Problem?"

Instead of answering, he shoves your shades in your face and pouts out his window. Uh huh... Weird. You slip on the shades anyway, turning back to face Slick and notice he's pulling the car up outside the apartment building. He orders you to get out of the car, hands you some keys through his window, and tells you the address you need to go to in order to pick up someone called Snowman. He says he owes her a favour and that she's decided to call in one of them, claiming to want a chauffeur for a few weeks to drive her around while her actual chauffeur recovers in hospital. Slick says with a grin that he knows why the guy's in hospital, but doesn't elaborate.

So that's how you end up driving a nice-looking, black mafia-like car to a fancy restaurant and waiting for "a cold-hearted bitch you'll recognise anywhere" to get in the damn car already. The sun's long since gone down, the woman taking her time with whatever she's doing; you're bored of everything, testing out your new phone and seeing if anything's new in the news. You're somewhat thankful that the restaurant has free wifi, finding an upside to this situation as you browse your usual websites and avoid the hell out of pesterchum. You check the news while you're waiting, spotting the woman (you assume it's her from Slick's description) and figuring she's going to be a while.

The sports headlines are usually what you expect to see. A team lost, a team won, someone's retiring, someone's starting a new career and rising up the ranks. For the hell of it, you check the news back in the Houston area, checking to see if you're noted missing yet. Your face hasn't been popping up, but a small article specifically about Bro mentions you in the leadup to how he wound up where he is. You still feel a chill run down your spine when you think of it, the explanation still not making sense. "It just happened - we can't find a reason  _why_ " isn't a good enough reason for you not to panic, you tell yourself.

The back door opens, a dark-haired woman lighting up a cigarette entering and shutting the door behind her. You don't dare to look back, wanting to get this over with; you discretely tuck your phone back into your pocket, settling your hands on the steering wheel before fixing your fedora.

"Where to, ma'am?" you ask with as much charm as you can manage. She isn't easily baited by it, instead turning the attention on to you and delaying your return home.

She leans forward, peeking over the edge of the seat to get a look at your face. "You're quite a young one," she notes. Her voice is like silk, you note; this confuses you to no end, because how the hell do you know what silk sounds like? Does silk even have a sound? Shit, you don't know. "Slick must be getting cautious if he sends fresh meat to grant my favours."

You stay quiet, obeying Slick's order of not saying anything other than "where to".

She exhales smoke in your face; you can't help but choke a little. There's a smirk in her voice as she says, "Tell me, boy, do you know who I am?"

Fuck this shit, she's not going to say anything unless you do. "You're Snowman," you say, coughing a little. "You're also in need of a ride. Gimmie a location and we'll be there in no time."

Snowman pouts, displeased with your answer. She leans back into her seat with a muttered, "Rude," before giving you details of where she wants to go. It takes around ten minutes to get her there, without traffic in the mix, and you're somewhat glad she opens the door after all that smoke gathering in the car. You're almost coughing up a lung by the time she gets out, but she doesn't quite let you leave after that.

There's a knock on your window, which you wind down reluctantly, and suddenly a hand is grasping your vest and pulling you to the window. You're stopped a few centimetres away from her face, a small smirk on her cherry-red lips. She looks like she's about ready to sabotage the engine to the car, then set fire to it (not that you know what that kind of action looks like in expressive form...), but instead she smoothly says, "Thanks for the ride, blondie," and saunters away into the building you're parked at. She walks inside, leaving you there to drive off whenever, but all you can do is sit there and stare at the steering wheel. It takes a while for you to even drive away, and the moment you do, three words pop into your mind:

_What the shit?_

* * *

Karkat's been acting kind of strange this week. Its been roughly two weeks since you were picked up by Slick and had to take Snowman to her destination, and the only times you've seen him is in the laundery room where he hurriedly grabs his things and clumsily runs out of the room before you can so much as push your dirty clothes in the machine. The guy's all-out avoiding you, and you can't help but wonder what it was you did wrong. Have you said something? Have you done something? You can't think of it.

It isn't until return home from meeting with Rose (again) that you see him sitting outside his apartment, looking worse for wear and huddled in the corner with his bag in front of him. He looks like he's taken a bit of a beating, and immediately you feel a bit of sympathy for him. More than once, back home, you came back to find yourself unable to face Bro after losing a fight that was obviously unfair.

You clear your throat, him apparently not noticing you yet, and hide your smirk when he jumps in surprise. "Need some help, Vantas?" you ask. He quickly shakes his head, telling you it's none of your business. You merely raise a brow and move for your door, holding Dirk as he squirms in an attempt to go see Karkat. Not only is Dirk attached to his new shades (well, they're not really new at this point), he's also gotten some kind of attachment to Karkat. He's gotten pretty used to him, you note; the baby almost always looks for Karkat whenever you come home from mothers' group.

The door is opened after you find the right key, and as you slip inside you say, "My door's open if you wanna come in. We got juice and formula, probably some 'tato chips if we're lucky."

He still hasn't moved by the time you set Dirk on the couch and get ready to check your fridge. "Yep," you call out. " _Wide_ open. Can't get any more open than that." You pull out an apple juice box, then grab another due to a gut feeling that Karkat will be joining you soon. "Thieves are just dying to walk through this door - no security systems whatsoever. Completely unlo-"

"Shut the fuck up and gimmie a juice, asshat."

You chuck the second box over your shoulder, not bothering to look, but know he's caught it when he sits himself down on the couch with Dirk and stabs something with a loud  _pop_. After preparing some milk for Dirk and handing it to you, you join Karkat on the couch and let Dirk choose who he wants to sit with. He chooses Karkat, the little traitor, but tell yourself that maybe Karkat needs the attention.

"So," you say after a good five minutes of nothing but juice and milk drinking. He glances up at you, eyes narrowing into a glare. Well, one of them is. The other is pretty much stuck in a swollen glare. You ignore the look, though, and continue on with that you're going to ask. "Which asshole do I have to hunt down?"

He seems to go red when you say that, chocking on some juice before reassuring Dirk that no, he is not going to randomly pass out and leave him alone in the world with no one but his guardian. "What the fuck?" he finally gasps. "What kind of neighbour goes around randomly saying that?"

"One who's actually been in that situation," you point out. "Plus, one who works with your Dad."

"Funny," he growls. "I don't see Droog, Deuce, or Boxcars doing it."

You raise a brow, lifting your shades to look him in the eye. "Do the troublesome trio live in this building?"

"No, but-"

"My point stands, then. No buts."

He pounts, puffing up his cheeks and resisting the urge to pelt his juice box at you. More silence passes before Karkat softens his glare and gets rid of his pout. He looks kind of like he wants to apologise, but you can't quite tell with him yet. If anything, it looks like this is his  _Oh God what the fuck am I doing I really need to watch what I say sometimes Jesus fuck_ expression. Kind of looks like yours, actually.

Instead of pressing on the matter, you change the subject. "Forget your keys?" you say, probably about to earn a rant about stating the obvious.

Karkat doesn't deliver, though. "Yes, Lalonde," he growls. "I forgot my God damn keys this morning before heading off for school. How observant of you. Would you like an award for your incredible genius? I hear the President himself wants to give it to you."

You gasp, a hand flying on top of your mouth in shock. "Oh my stars and stripes," you say, adding some dramatic flair to your reply. "The President himself? I am so _honoured_. Honoured, I say! Oh, I'd like to thank my mom for birthing me, my dad for raising me, and my sister for being so smart she shared some of her smarticle particles with me in the womb. I'd also like to than-"

"Oh my fucking God," Karkat groans, finally throwing his empty box at you. You catch it, letting out a breath of a laugh. "Do you ever shut up?"

"I'm afraid not," you sigh. "I've been cursed since the day I was born to speak everything that comes to mind. It's such a horrible curse, and the flighty broad who put it on me refuses to say anything more than that the kiss of my true love will break the spell." You flop off of the couch, suddenly boneless. "Woe is me. What's the number for Disney, by the way? I deserve to be a Disney princess for this! Join the ranks of Cinderella and Snow White. Get me a Prince Charming and midgets to put me in a glass case when I die. Let all who walk by see my gorgeous face."

"Just shut up, Lalonde." Karkat turns Dirk around so he can face him, helping him hold his bottle. You watch Karkat as he does, noting the change in expression. He seems somewhat relaxed when he holds Dirk, more so when he helps him with the small things, and you can't help but wonder if Karkat actually enjoys being around your kid. You hate to say it, but he looks kinda happy right now.

You get to talking again, just like the first night he stayed over, but this time it's about his friends - the other Crew members' kids. He talks about Aradia, the only girl of their group. Karkat describes her as weird, but easy to get along with once you get past her "I see dead people" exterior. There's Tavros, who's secretly dating Snowman's youngest kid. He's apparently really into Peter Pan and fantasy novels, but still remains the coolest member of their little group. And finally there's Sollux, Karkat's asshole best friend (aside from Gamzee, who is referred to ask the idiotic best friend) and all around computer hacking bastard. Karkat warns you to not be surprised if Sollux lifts your phone from you one day and plants a virus on it for kicks. You simply warn him not to be surprised when you use said phone as a weapon agains Sollux in a battle to the death. Karkat laughs at that, albeit a small laugh, and you can't help but smile when you hear it.

He seems to realise he's laughing, though, and stops almost immediately. He returns his attention to Dirk, cheeks red again, and something inside you wonders why he's acting this way. One part of you suggests that maybe he's got a small crush on you, but another part - a louder part - blatantly yells back,  _Damn it, Jim, not everything is about you! Use your damn head for once!_

Wow. You know you need a TV and internet badly when your thoughts imitate Bones McCoy.

It doesn't take long for Slick to get home and let Karkat in, and you don't see him for the rest of the day. The apartment feels kind of empty, despite the fact that Karkat's probably only ever been in it two or three times. It isn't until the next night that you see him again, and he's over just as you're cooking yourself dinner. Well, attempting to cook it, at least. He's got a pillow tucked under one arm and a sleeping bag under the other, and all he says is, "I get the feeling Dirk's gonna start crying in the night, and you're probably gonna be too tired to deal with him or some shit."

You don't question him after that - you merely pull out another bowl and pour some soup into it, handing it to him before going on to feed Dirk. Karkat just sits at the table, watching you as you take care of your baby's food needs. He barely touches his soup, stirring it once or twice and probably only having two spoonfuls before you finish feeding Dirk. You ask him if there's something wrong with the soup, but he simply writes off not eating it as not being that hungry tonight. You don't believe him, but let him have his excuse anyway.

Soon enough you decide the three of you should go to bed, setting up in the bedroom (you finally bought a mattress to sleep on instead of the couch!) with Karkat's sleeping bag beside the mattress. He's quick to go to sleep while you're left waiting for Dirk to finally shut his eyes and give you some peace. It takes a while, around half an hour, but it finally happens; those orange eyes slide shut and he's dozing off just like Karkat, all innocent-looking and sleepy.

You shake your head, dismissing the thought with a sigh, and slowly join them in sleep. The next couple of weeks are similar, aside from that one time you and Karkat fought over the puppet that plagued you for countless years. (You were certain you'd left that thing with Bro, right under his arm, before you'd left!) That had ended with you tripping over his legs in an attempt to use your height to your advantage, and then the two of you found yourselves toppled onto the couch with Karkat blushing furiously beneath you. He'd easily given up Lil Cal after that, and kept a bit of a distance from you for the rest of the night. Aside from that, though, everything is pretty average. You're expecting Snowman to request a chauffeur again any night now, but you get a feeling it won't be for another couple of days.

It's your last day of month two. Karkat officially stays at your place whenever Slick is away for the night and you haven't had to encounter Snowman since that first night. You're going to be doing different kinds of jobs soon, and Rose is eager to learn as much as she can about your joint lie.

You're getting there, you think. Slowly, but you're getting there.


End file.
